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by syndomatic
Summary: "Well then." Akane frowns, stares at him. "Teach me." — HayatoAkane, school!au


**disclaimer; **i own nothing.

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Akane arrives ten minutes before the bell rings, hands tucked into her skirt pockets, walking briskly with an invisible presence that jerks Hayato upward so often it's almost infuriating.

She sits near the window, two seats behind Tsukushi's, diagonally adjacent from Matsuba's and directly across from his. Most days, when he's tired or sleepy (or both), he'd slump in his seat and when he darts his focus away from the whiteboard, away from Yanagi-sensei's patronizing voice, he'd catch her figure from the corner of his eye, leaning lazily against the wall, her skirt creased, doing something stupid (like passing notes or flicking an eraser at Matsuba or folding paper airplanes) that will undoubtedly result in a glare and a scold.

It's an unspoken routine of sorts, he thinks as he looks away, (like he always does). Sometimes, he wishes that it isn't. He doesn't know why.

Most of the time, he doesn't mind it.

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He's piling his books into one neat corner, stuffing them into his bag when Akane approaches his desk.

"Hey, Hayato," Akane says, her voice loud and vigorous, a smile on her face, her casual attitude slightly undermined by the brief hesitation before she says his name. "We should go somewhere."

Hayato quirks an eyebrow. "Where?" he says, just to humor her. Absently, he glances behind her, towards the window, the painful sunlight stuck in his eyes.

"I don't know, we'll think of something." She taps her chin lightly, like she's thinking, but Akane always knows what to say. "Matsuba and Ibuki are coming too." she says offhandedly, to convince him, even though he's not particularly interested in what Matsuba does after school, and Ibuki is… Ibuki.

"Sorry," he replies flatly, watching her face fall, "I have something to do today." It's true—his father's coming home for dinner, and he can't bear to disappoint him, can he?

"Oh." She bites the corner of her lip, stares blankly at the floor. "Well, maybe next time." It almost makes him feel bad; he remembers, then, that Akane used to join drama club back in middle school, and the guilt evaporates. "I mean, you're always so… isolated. So I thought that—"

"It's okay," he cuts, his voice sounding almost annoyed; he tells himself he doesn't mean it at the same time he feels disgusted at her pity. He zips his bag, straightens the creases in its fabric. "Maybe next time."

"Yeah." Akane walks away, then, whistling a tune he doesn't recognize.

That is the first time they talk.

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He's a little surprised (not really) to see her sitting in the library after school one day, nose buried in a surprisingly thick book, legs absentmindedly kicking back and forth, the noise cutting through icy silence. He decides to do the initiative and greet her; he'll blame it on something else, later, anything else. For now, he places his bag on the desk, next to her, and takes a seat.

"Akane," he starts, sounding a little forced, and she lifts her head, tilting it slightly, like she's surprised. Then, she straightens her posture, and he can't help but feel a little guilty. Pushing it aside, he pulls out a textbook from his bag; there aren't any exams tomorrow, but he doesn't like coming home to an empty house, so.

"Oh, it's you," Akane says, "Hayato."

"What are you reading?" he asks, after a bit of silence.

She sighs tiredly, "Algebra. I have remedial on Wednesday." A pause, "This is my third one this week."

"Well maybe you'd get better grades if you'd stop goofing off in class," he chides, playing along, and then immediately feels bad.

"Yeah, says the one who's basically a genius." She scoffs before he can apologize, flipping a page. "Like, I can't understand linear equations to save my life."

"Really? It's not that hard." Even though he has to reread Tsukushi's notes three times before he can get the hang of it, but he doesn't mention that.

"Well then." Akane frowns, stares at him. "Teach me."

He supposes he can spare an hour or two; his father won't be home until next week, anyway. "Alright."

And that, he thinks, is where everything goes downhill.

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He's friends with Matsuba. Not close friends, but he lives a couple blocks away from him, and sometimes they eat lunch together and sometimes they walk home after a game of football or softball and talk about little things that don't really matter much in the long run. Like how well they think they did on that test, or how this girl from 8-5 switched the male and female toilet signs the other day and people somehow fell for it.

Hayato isn't half as laid-back or carefree as he is, and some days he asks what is it exactly that makes them stay together.

"Super glue, maybe?" he supplies offhandedly, tugging at the ends of his scarf. The temperature on the rooftop is painfully hot and Hayato tries not to think much about it. He tries not to think much about most things that bother him, period.

Hayato chews on his vegetables; he hates tomatoes, but his father told him to eat healthier ("you're a growing boy,"), and who is he to argue? "It's not a question."

"I know," Matsuba says, matter-of-factly, "learn to live a little, please."

He switches subjects; he mostly loses to him, anyway, so why bother. "Are we playing football today?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I can't make it," he says, then, almost regretfully, "I have to tutor Akane."

"I don't think I've ever heard of her caring about her grades," Matsuba states. "And I've known her since preschool."

"Well, maybe she finally saw the light or something." Distantly, he wonders if she did well. He hopes so; that girl is nearly impossible to teach, so it's nice to know that his efforts did mean something.

The bell rings, and he excuses himself. Matsuba stays, and Hayato doesn't bother to stop him.

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"I passed," she tells him immediately after he sits down, a proud grin on her face. "I mean… wow, I actually passed. Eighty-six percent. I've never got a single decent grade in algebra, you know?"

Of course he knows; everyone does. "Well, anyway—" He opens the textbook, settles on page seventy-three. "—let's just go through these problems. Do the easy ones first, and then circle the ones you don't understand."

"Alright," Akane says, so determinedly it's almost cute.

He doesn't let his eyes linger, but he thinks that her smile is—

(kind of beautiful)

what?

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One of the first things that he knows about Akane is that she is by nature a social butterfly, so it doesn't bother him in the least that she doesn't talk to him outside of morning greetings and their meetings in the library. It doesn't bother him that sometimes, she talks about things he can't understand; about the way she ties her, or what colour of nail polish to pick, or, when he's drowning himself in essays about the digestive system, how someone—Suzune, maybe?—started a rumour the other day that—wow, get this—they're dating.

"What," Hayato replies, blandly. The book falls dully on his lap.

"Yeah, I know," Akane says, stifles a laugh, "crazy, right?"

He blinks, over and over, until the stars in her eyes are gone and the pink of her lips fade; and tells himself, of course it is. Of course it is.

"Yes," he agrees, and it's the truth.

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Two days later, when he's already waiting in a corner of the library for fifteen minutes, Akane texts him to tell that she won't make it; off to go out because, like, she's been missing a lot of fun lately, with all the studying and stuff.

Matsuba's already gone off without him, so Hayato goes home alone. To be honest, he doesn't want to; his house is empty today, too, and the silence kills him, so he decides that he won't.

He stays.

After an hour, he hears the door open; he recognizes the shadow, the rhythm of her footsteps. She stops just before she reaches him, and to be honest, he's a little disappointed.

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A week passes and he cancels out their study session in favour of practice, and even though she knows he hasn't got anywhere to go today, she nods tightly and doesn't argue.

The disappointment in her shows, though, and it's sympathetic enough to make him lose focus for the rest of the day; just not enough to pull him closer.

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"You should talk."

"About what?" Hayato says, and Matsuba quirks an eyebrow; he doesn't notice.

"You know what." He leaves.

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In the end, he does.

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Akane arrives five minutes after the bell rings, her socks uneven and her hair tied up in pigtails, walking with an air of confidence and bitterness, but this time he doesn't even so much as look up; they're pathetic, he realizes, and he's not the best of liars but he could pass as one if he tries enough.

She sits differently now, two seats in front of him, because Yanagi-sensei's changed it around and to be honest, he likes it better this way. Some days, when his vision is clouded with rainy afternoons and pallid pages, he abruptly turns away from someone he thinks he recognizes and he can't remember the feeling anymore. She's probably doing something stupid, he thinks, because that's the unspoken ritual, but does not allow himself anything more.

He hears her laugh, distantly; he doesn't mind it.

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**a;n: **what is this and why is the ending so bad. also, i wrote this with the prompt _beginning? beginnings. _in mind, so.


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